May I suggest fae whumper who's taken whumpee, because the whumpee would make a fun little pet/toy. Being forced to smile because the whumper compels the whumpee to smile or dance.
Daily Drabble #152
This had been sitting in my inbox since June 1st, 2025. Anon if you're still here this is for you lol
Whumpee believed in faeries, and despite how dangerous they knew they could be, they spent a large portion of their free time seeking them out, hunting for them. They knew all of the things you should avoid, so if they just followed the fae rules… how dangerous could it really be?
When Whumpee finally finds one, they’re so overcome with joy they forget to hold onto that sense. Caution went out the window as their guard was dropped, and the faerie was able to easily capture them. Now Whumpee was reduced to them and all their fae friends’ human pet; their entertainment.
Whumpee was forced to dance and smile, wearing ridiculous clothes, all white exhaustion took hold of them. Despite the painful ache of their legs, they couldn’t stop. The fae were going to make them move until their heart was damn near ready to give out.
Fire Whumper - Every touch, even gentle, burns Whumpee, causing blisters and areas where the skin died. Whumpee constantly feeling too hot and covered in sweat, passing out from heatstroke.
Water Whumper - Casually holding Whumpee down with their hand over Whumpee’s face, drowning them. Whumpee always feeling cold and damp, getting some kind of bacterial fungal infection.
Wind Whumper - Throwing Whumpee around like a ragdoll and hitting them against things with just a wave of their hand. Whumpee flinching at the feeling of any breeze, having really bad windburn and dry eye.
Earth Whumper - Their hits are hard, sharp, and heavy, leaving Whumpee out of breath and trembling face down on the ground. Whumpee layered with bruises and incorrectly healed bones, usually covered in some kind of dust or dirt.
whumpee who hates herself so much she's willing to go to extreme lengths to show it. like creating a clone of herself. just to beat up. and keep in a small closet. chained
Advancing technology forward was always Whumpee's passion, they dedicated their whole life and career to building the future. They were prepared for the possibility of a robot uprising happening; they were NOT prepared for their lab partner to use their devices against them.
Super-security. Advanced locking systems. Small, high-quality movement-tracking cameras. Just a small amount of their inventions was enough to keep them trapped, here in their underground lab. Turns out their partner was planning this for quite some time.
Not only was Whumpee going to be their captive pet, but Whumper was going to take full credit for the tech and make millions— possibly even billions.
I am trying to make a story but i lack inspiration 😔😔 can u write something with very smart whumpee used as some kinda strategic weapon??
:( sad to hear that! i hope ideas come to you super soon! love that vein of whump XD lemme;
whumpee losing complete control over their schedule and their body, not being allowed to stay up late, not being allowed to sleep in, not being allowed to eat junk, not being allowed any relaxation other than their mandatory sleep— all in order to preserve their intellect and the state of their mind.
whumpee being put in life-or-death situations when they cannot grasp their current project and complete what is demanded of them— that intense stress being put to the side because they know that while their services are valuable, they aren't— there are so many more like them, and they are simply one inexcusable mistake away from being discarded.
whumpee who stakes their entire self-worth on what they can do, on what they can solve, on their intellect alone. every failure is personal— a proof of their idiocy. they lie awake at nights, tossing and turning, constantly berating themself for their mistakes.
whumpee who knows that they have nothing of value to offer beyond their intellect. and even that isn't all that remarkable. they dread the day their mind will fail them.
whumpee who can't remember things as clearly as they used to. they hope that the first time was a fluke, and the second time a coincidence. but third time is a pattern, and the dread of the fact that they are deteriorating sits heavy in their stomach.
Comfort tropes because I suck at comfort and need practice
Post whump
Content: comfort, Post captivity, bruises, lashing out, PTSD
Whumpee wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate. "Aren't you going to drink that?" "No. I think I'll just... sit here with it."
Hugs. Whumpee numbly walking into caretaker's outstretched arms and squeezing their eyes shut as the arms gently embrace them.
Waking up with a nightmare and patting the comforter, slapping the bed, walking around touching every wall, every piece of furniture, reminding themselves of where they are. Not there, not anymore.
Dyeing their hair after being forced to leave it down, tangled, uncut, for months in captivity.
Watching bruises fade from red and purple to green and yellow. Green becomes whumpee's favorite color, because they never got to see it when whumpers was in control of them---bruises were always fresh. It's a symbol that the pain is there, but it's going. And it will heal, just like the bruises.
Maybe they lost their whole friend group because their friends couldn't handle what happened to them. And now they're making new friends in caretaker's friend group. People that understand and don't mind.
Whumpee lashing out at caretaker and then sobbing/throwing a fit in the bathroom over it. "I ruined it!" When they come out, shoulders hunched, ready for everything to blow up in their face, caretaker is just on the phone with their own friend, calmed down, alright. "I'm getting you a punching bag, whumpee. Try that next time, okay?"
Whumpee being rescued by gruff/stoic team of caretakers. Whumpee starts crying and the caretakers all look at each other wondering wtf are they supposed to do
#352
content: captivity, implied torture, death mention, murder mention, past trauma, whump aftermath, multiple caretakers, gruff caretaker
The rescue had been the easy part. At least that was what Ae was beginning to realise once Whumpee, the person they had rescued with their team, started crying uncontrollably.
They'd found Whumpee in a cage in Whumper's basement. Bee was the one who alerted them to the sound of quiet shuffling coming from behind a locked door, Cea was the one who picked the lock, and everything seemed to go well for everyone included when they finally got Whumpee out, but then they just started… bawling.
Ae wasn't good with emotions. Especially crying. And as they looked around for help, they found Bee and Cea equally lost. Maybe the three of them got along so well because none of them ever cried. But now there was a crying victim clinging to their pant leg. What were they supposed to do?
"Uh…" Ae rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly, then crouched down to be at eye-level with Whumpee. The poor thing was covered in cuts and bruises peeking through every hole in their tattered shirt. "There, there…"
"Is it over?" Whumpee wept. "Is it really over? I'm out? You're not here to hurt me?"
"We're here to take you to safety," Bee assured them clumsily. It was weird to hear them try to sound reassuring and gentle. They were the type to bark commands at others, not comfort the downtrodden.
"I'm gonna wait upstairs," Cea said, quickly escaping the situation. Bee followed after them without a word. Ae was left alone with a sobbing Whumpee, still clutching the fabric of their pants and refusing to let go when they tried to gently pry their fingers off.
"Hey," Ae tried. "You're okay now. Let go."
"What if they come back?"
"Whumper?"
Whumpee nodded.
"They won't. We gave them a good scare, I doubt they'll even stay in the city. Uh, where do we bring you? Any family we can notify?"
Whumpee shook their head. "They died. They were… They were killed. Whumper killed them. In front of— In front of me. I couldn't do anything. I tried, I swear I tried, but I couldn't do anything."
Oh. They were traumatised beyond belief. This was definitely out of their ballpark. "Okay, um… Then, I guess, a police station—"
"No!" Whumpee cut in, desperate. "No, they know the police, the police will notify them, please, not the police, anything but the police—"
"Okay, okay. Uh… Man, I mean— A hospital?"
"Can I go with you?" they asked in a small voice. "You saved me."
"We don't really… Hm. I mean… Uh…"
"I won't be a bother. I don't eat much, I can sleep in the corner on the floor, you won't even notice I'm there—"
"You're most definitely not sleeping in the corner if you come with us," Ae said sternly, feeling a little more in their element. "We'll rearrange the rooms, Bee can come sleep with me, you can get Bee's room. If you're afraid to sleep alone, Cea can sleep with you. Then we even have a spare room. Come on, let go of my pants and let's sort this out."
Whumpee stared up at them with their big, teary eyes. "I can really stay with you?"
"Yes. I'm sure the others would agree to it. Come on, Whumpee. Let's go."
Whumpee nodded. "Thank you. I… I'm just so scared. I'm sorry for crying like this."
So they caught on that it was making everyone uncomfortable. To be fair, they weren't hiding it well. "It's fine. Now, come on. I'm sure the others are bored out of their mind waiting for us."
Whumpee ran through the forest as fast as their fatigued, malnourished legs could carry them. Despite running on nothing but fear and adrenaline, they were mindful of their steps. They didn’t want to trip and have all of their progress ruined.
Whumper was far behind them now; they didn’t chase after them. A part of them was unnerved by this, the other part just assumed they weren’t worth the trouble. Either way, they were going to be free and there was nothing Whumper was going to do about it—
They stopped in their tracks when they hit the endless ocean.
Themes: adolescent psychiatric hospital, School Spirits, escape attempt, man handling, desperation
Masterlist
June 9, 2026
-
He hadn’t planned it. At least not beyond the single thought of knowing he needed to get out of there.
The door to the grounds hadn’t latched right after a delivery. He’d just been in the hall when he noticed the linen delivery man who had clearly come and gone from this ward for years. Casual and careless.
Xavier didn’t take the time to weigh options or consider consequences. He just began walking. Then running. Out past the smell of bleach and waxed tile and into the open air, socked feet pounding against cold, damp pavement.
He didn’t know where the hospital was- not really, only that it was remote. Without really giving it thought he knew he would just flee into the woods until he found something. All he really needed was a phone to call Simon, Claire, or Nicole… any of them would work. They could- they would help.
No yells or commotion came after him as he sprinted. There was a chain link fence, about 5 feet tall, he scaled it with the speed of adrenaline. Then he didn’t stop running.
He thought about varying his path as he stumbled through the undergrowth but elected to continue straight- that would create more distance between him and whoever they sent after him. Those people didn’t have dogs did they? He wouldn’t put it past them.
The woods were cold and wet and full of shadows by the time he slowed and crumbled down at the base of a large tree. He couldn’t keep going at the pace he had kept for the last 30 minutes since he had stepped outside.
He thought he might’ve heard someone calling his name but after extended listening he hoped he was only being paranoid because as much as he strained he heard nothing after that.
His poly-cotton scrubs were damp with perspiration and dotted with spots of blood where thorns and sticks had caught him. His feet were far worse off with only the hospital socks between them and the forest floor.
He would sit and catch his breath for only a few minutes before he’d keep going. In the back of his mind he was aware that exposure was a real threat especially in contrast with the single layer of cotton he was wearing.
The sound of twigs breaking in a sharp crack stopped his heart for a moment. His first thought was it would be a deer. Guards would be much louder, lumbering, he tried to reason as his eyes darted around the dimming forest.
Fear pierced his chest as he registered a person about 15 yards from him.
Then he realized who it was-
It was his dad. He’d recognize the sheriff’s hat and those sloped shoulders anywhere.
At first, Xavier felt relief—real, aching relief.
A beat of silence passed between them, thick with a strange ache. His father looked tired—his hair disheveled, but his clothes were too clean for the forest. He took a few slow steps forward, hands visible.
“Xavier,” he said, quiet. “There you are.”
And for a fleeting moment, something bloomed in Xavier’s chest. His throat tightened. His fingers twitched. His dad had come. Himself. Not staff. Not other officers. Maybe—
-Maybe if he asked the right way. If he explained it carefully. If he was calm. Maybe this was the way back. Maybe his dad could see he wasn’t dangerous, he wasn't sick. Maybe he could see how badly Xavier needed his help- maybe- just maybe he could help.
Xavier rose slowly, unsteady. “Dad…” His voice cracked. “I’m okay. I promise. I am sorry- I just- I can’t stay there- I can’t.”
His father’s face didn’t shift from his guarded expression.
A ripple of movement behind the trees made Xavier’s stomach pit.
Two deputies emerged from the woods. Quiet. Measured. Slowly pacing so as not to spook their target.
Xavier’s eyes darted between them. “Dad?” he said again, his voice raw, but the man’s mouth was a tight line.
One of them held a radio. They circled to move into place behind Xavier.
He blinked.
Oh.
He wasn’t found—he was located. Tracked. Only to be brought back in.
And his father wasn’t here to save him. He was just the one who could catch him.
The hope that had flared so briefly snuffed out.
Xavier flinched but did not resist as one of the deputies took him gently by the arm, the other hovering a foot or two away. He stood mutely as his dad placed his too large jacket over his shoulders. He said something about it being cold.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t beg. He went stiff and quietly, allowing them to walk him out of the woods with a deputy’s hand gripping his arm and to a road where the police cruisers were parked. The other deputy used his radio, “Yep- we found him. Positive.”
No one else spoke.
They put him in the back of his dad’s cruiser, lock clicking on the door. He stared mutely through the windshield at the deputy’s car leading the drive back. Mud caking his ankles, socks torn and dyed red in places. His father rode in silence in the cruiser’s passenger seat, back rigid, not once looking back, saying nothing.
The building came into view like a fortress. Gated windows, locked rooms, and staff at every corner, clipboards in hand and ready for his return he knew.
Xavier felt his pulse quicken against his will.
He stayed completely still in his seat, even as the deputy opened the door and motioned for him to come out.
And even as the second came around and gently touched his arm, “Come on, Xavier. It’s okay.”
“No,” he said quietly, almost too low to be heard.
The deputy hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the sheriff for a fraction of a second. “It’s okay, Xavier. Just up the steps.” This deputy had used to play paperclip basketball with him at the station when Xavier was younger.
Xavier could feel his body locking up. “No,” he said louder. “No, I am not going back- please-”
Neither replied to this. One nodded to the other and then he was being dragged out with a strong grip to his upper arm.
His dads jacket slipped off his shoulders to the ground.
An orderly stepped outside followed by others. “We can take it from here. Thank you, officers.”
Like a stray dog being returned.
“Please don’t make me go-” Xavier’s voice broke. He twisted and weakly tried to pull away, his injured stockinged feet dragging on the pavement trying to get a purchase- any kind of leverage.
It took both deputies full effort now to hold him between them.
He caught his father’s eyes- standing by the car, hands clenched at his sides, watching, silent.
“Dad! I’ll be good- I’ll be good, I promise- just don’t make me go back- I can’t stay there-” Xavier shouted, a pitiful last effort, even by his standards. His voice was rough and ragged with desperation.
But his father didn’t move.
Didn’t come forward.
Didn’t order them away.
Didn’t so much as say a word.
The familiar grips of orderlies were taking his upper arms, bending him forward and guiding him up the stairs and through the door.
Xavier craned his head again and caught the distant, sunken look of a man who had delivered his own son to strangers and now watched them drag him away like a convict.
*
Inside was a team of people waiting for him. He was no longer struggling. Immediately there was a paper pot with two little pills being brought to his face. He swallowed them and the sip of water in the accompanying pot without hesitation, for once not caring what they were.
“Attaboy, just something to bring you down a little. Now why don’t we clean you up?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at the nurse speaking. He wasn’t listening. His mouth was still too dry. His legs moved out of instinct, half-dragged, half-guided, his thoughts a blur of bereavement and quiet horror.
His father had watched as they dragged him away begging. Just watched.
He was being led back down the corridors before his dazed mind could consider what might be in store for him now.
He wasn’t taken back to the ward—no, straight to Observation.
They stripped him of everything.
He stayed still as his muddy, blood-spotted, and tattered scrubs were taken off him and put straight into the waste bin. After a lukewarm and antiseptic soap shower by the nurses, he was handed a gown. Then not even the usual tied fabric one—just paper. Thin. Crinkling with every movement. The kind reserved for kids on suicide watch.
A few months ago, a shower with two adult women could only be imagined as a video he’d watch on incognito mode. The Xavier a few months ago never could’ve guessed this turn of unfortunate events.
Staff members hovered at every turn, holding clipboards, radios. No one said he was being punished but he knew.
There were no more requests, no soft nudges to comply.
Now there were just hands guiding, turning and moving him.
They spoke about him like he wasn’t there… which was mostly true. and when they did speak to him, it was clipped and slow and careful. Like they were addressing a five-year-old.
-We’re going to sit down now.
-You’re safe, but you made a dangerous choice, and we need to help you from doing it again.
They led him to a Quiet Room he hadn’t been in before—bare mattress on the floor, camera high in the corner, large one way mirror on one wall. The orderlies lowered his lightly sedated pliable form down to the matted floor while a nurse reviewed the protocol.
“You’re here so we can keep you safe,” she said both sweetly and firmly, “You made a scary choice today, Xavier. You ran away. And sometimes when kids run away, it means they’re not making safe choices for their bodies or their minds.”
He stared at her, eyes half lidded. She smiled back.
“You’re not in trouble,” she added, too brightly. “But you’re going to have some restrictions for a while until we settle back down. Now will you let me give you a little medicine to help you sleep? You need rest after your big day.”
Xavier still stared blankly at her. An orderly crouched down to shift his body and pull his gown up his hip exposing pink scrubbed skin. The orderly unnecessarily held him in place so the nurse could administer the sedative. He didn’t resist. She pulled the gown back down and gave him a little pat, “Now that wasn’t hard at all, well done.”
The group then filed out while Xavier mutely watched them close the door and the quick acting injection settled over him. He blinked slowly and let it take him over.
This was the consequence.
Sick people needed boundaries. Sick people needed those who know better to help them understand these.
*
He laid on the thin mat hours later, arms tucked tight to his chest, staring at the corner of the ceiling where the camera methodically blinked red. The lights never fully dimmed here. They called it “low-stimulation lighting,”.
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